Regenerate

He slides back from the micro-zoom and stares at the floor. “Sorry I can’t take you this year. I was planning to, but then Zeph and I—”

  “No, it’s fine.” I really can’t hear this right now. “I know. That’s not what I meant. I meant, I’m still not used to Gran being gone.”

  His eyes finally pull up from the ground to look at me. “I could at least read the oratory if you want. I’d be happy to, as long as you don’t mind.”

  I smile and shake my head. “Thanks, but even if it’s read in your voice, the Organizer’s script is really flat.”

  “I’ll write my own,” he offers.

  I do a double-take at him. “You’ll what? Are you serious? Is that even allowed?” That would be such a relief.

  “Yeah, we’ve been friends since we were five. I probably know you better than anyone alive. I’m sure they’d let me fill in.”

  Even if he’s there with Zephani that night, I just don’t want to be alone on stage this time. “That’d actually be really great, if they’ll let you. Thanks, Rax.”

  He studies me a moment then gives a small, quick smile. “No problem.” He clears his throat and pushes away to his part of the desk. “I think it should be good now. Give it a try.” He gestures toward my zoom glass.

  I pull up to it again and peer through it. Sure enough, crystal clear.

  “Is it working?” he asks.

  I answer while still looking into it. “Yep. It’s official, you’re a magician.” I smile.

  He laughs. “I’m glad my magic at least works on some things.”

  A twist in his tone catches my attention. My brow furrows and I glance over at him, but he’s already looking into his micro-zoom and doesn’t see me. Still, I get the feeling his last comment was somehow about me.

  I key in my order for lunch on my way to the cafeteria. It goes faster if we let the food preppers know what we want before we show up, so they can get it warming. As I walk, a rich brown arm links through mine and Kachina’s bouncy steps fall in time with my own.

  “Hey, Averi!” she chirps as we walk down the hall. “Did you hear the news about tomorrow?”

  It’s odd, I used to walk and chat like this all the time when I was a kid, even up until a few years ago, bouncy steps and all. Now it feels so strange to interact in this way. I glance around. Several others are walking exactly the same as we are. Is this type of thing instinctual? Why do we all do this? And why don’t I anymore?

  “News?” I respond, a beat slower than polite. I glance at her just in time to see her frown. “Sorry, no. I guess I haven’t. What’s going on tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow is the birth.” She smiles and waves at a couple passing by us.

  “The birth of . . . what?” Is this something I ought to know, or just the latest rumor from one of her many “sources”?

  “The first re-generation birth, of course. Don’t tell me you missed the big announcement nine months ago. Not to mention all the monthly updates. School is canceled for second unit tomorrow so we can all watch.”

  We reach the lunch court and pass through the sliding doors. Tubers hand us our food.

  I do vaguely recall that. That was one of the days I nearly had an asthma attack and left lunch early. I had to file an absence report.

  “That’s right. Natalia and that guy from the West Texas province. I remember,” I say. I remember eleven months ago their marriage was broadcast live in every village. The gossip was insane about the first GAP wedding. “I still can’t believe they’re having a baby so soon. She barely knows the guy.”

  “Averi, our parents didn’t meet at all before having us. They didn’t even meet to conceive us,” she says.

  “Yeah, but that was different. They had no intention of building lives together.” Even virtual ones were a stretch for most.

  We take our seats at our usual table, Kachina seating herself across from me.

  “What are you guys talking about?” asks Rax as he joins our table with Zephani in tow.

  Kachina waves her hand dismissively. “Oh, Averi’s just freaking out that Nat and Chenzo are having a baby already.”

  I take the lid off my tray and let the steam escape. “I’m not freaking out.” Ok, maybe on the inside I am. “Isn’t it a little crazy to anyone else, though? I mean, she was at school with us less than a year ago, and now she’s married to a stranger and having his baby.”

  “Someone’s having a stranger’s baby? Sounds exciting,” says Lander sliding into the vacant seat beside me with his own tray.

  He leans close and nudges me with his shoulder. “Maybe we ought to stay strangers a little longer.” He gives me a flirty grin and winks.

  My face is bright red. I can feel it. I’m not even sure how to react to that.

  Raxtin chokes on his soup and starts coughing uncontrollably.

  “Oh, Lander, you’re a scoundrel.” Kachina swats at his arm from the other side of the table. “Averi just hates all things sentimental.”

  I flare at the comment. “No, I don’t. How is a bunch of people making a huge ruckus over one child’s birth—which will probably overwhelm the poor kid—a sentimental thing? If I were having a baby, I’d want it to stay private. The Organizers should just recap and show a small clip. We don’t need to all live it with them. It’s their life.”

  From the corner of my eye, I see that Lander’s watching me. He looks serious, for Lander.

  Kachina heaves a sigh like I just don’t get it, then she and Zephani turn to each other and become lost in a conversation about all things baby-related.

  I lean my arms on the table and pick at the sandwich and tots on my plate. I guess I really am a freak. No one seems to get it—or get me, anyway.

  Lander’s subdued voice picks up, directed at me. “You really think it should be kept private?”

  I tuck my hair behind one ear, still staring down at my food. “I don’t know. If Nat and what’s-his-bucket want everyone to be watching, fine, but I think I’d want it to be a quiet, private thing.”

  Does he disapprove too? If he does, I don’t want to see it. Still, I can’t help stealing a peek at him. He’s staring ahead, focused, but not on anything here. I look away again before he can catch me.

  “What if you don’t get that choice?” he says. His voice is even and firm. “What if they make you broadcast it, or whatever else they decide to label as protocol? What then?”

  My response flies out of my mouth before I can think what I’m saying. “I’ll fight them on it.”

  Something about my words feels right, like they ground and center me. “They can’t say everything that happens in my life. I don’t care if I am a GAP.”

  Strange, I’ve never thought myself a rebel. I know this feeling, though. I’ve felt it before. When?

  I glance over to gauge his reaction. His eyes are drawn and tight at the corners, but he’s nodding. His gaze searches mine a moment.

  As if suddenly remembering where we are, he starts, turning back to the group.

  He flashes one of his big, fake smiles and strikes up a conversation with Jettro, asking about his latest software decryption endeavors and some weird cart Jett and Rax are putting together out of old bi-ped parts.

  My eyes drift back to my plate again, but not without noting Lander’s. His meal looks kind of strange. I’m not sure what’s different; it just seems odd.

  I look at the other plates at our table. There’s everything from Spamwiches and fire nachos to Greek pockets.

  My eyes pull back to Lander’s food.

  It’s all just vegetables, and I think rice. Nothing else. No sauce, no gravy, and no gooey, rich dessert. Just fruit and vegetables with plain rice.

  Weirdo.

  I sit in my social studies unit, drumming my fingers on the desk. Lander isn’t here yet, and part of me is relieved while the other part is anxious.

  This morning’s broadcast of the birth wasn’t as horrible or graphic as I’d imagined. It just seemed really invasive. The strangest part was th
at as soon as the baby was out and crying, they rushed him over into a warmer. Nat kept asking to hold him, or at least see him. They told her holding him wasn’t safe until she’d been properly coached. They insisted she use the in-warmer face screen to interact with him so the baby could see her but stay warm. She wasn’t happy about it. I could tell. Don’t they know we GAPs resent our parents’ tech? Ninety-five percent of the babies born prior to us died because of it. Why would any of us want tech to be our first interaction with our own offspring?

  During the broadcast the screen flickered several times, which I swear never happens. Kachina freaked out that she was going to miss something. It would’ve been better for the new little family if the feed went out altogether, in my opinion.

  The unit period has already started when Lander finally waltzes in through the door. He doesn’t say anything, just flashes his Pocket Palm at the teacher’s screen, then takes his seat by me. Mrs. Krete doesn’t say anything either, but nods in acknowledgment and continues.

  What on earth did he show her? The only thing I can think of would be a medical excuse, but usually they forward those directly to the teacher to avoid staged snapshots.

  I glance at him as he turns on his paper and flips to the lesson. His brow is creased in a scowl, and he doesn’t look like he’s really seeing it.

  “Is everything all right?” I whisper.

  His head snaps up and when his eyes meet mine, his scowl softens. He smiles. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.” He looks back to his e-paper. “Are you doing all right?”

  I pull back, unsure what prompted his return of the question. “Sure. Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  He doesn’t look up. “That was some broadcast this morning. Thought you might be upset afterwards. Considering your strong opinions and all.”

  That’s right, I talked to him about that. “I’m fine. It wasn’t as horrible as I expected.”

  He nods—but it’s more to himself—and goes quiet.

  I finally tune in to the teacher’s lecture. “I know we are all very excited because of the birth this morning. So, in light of this historic event, we are going to do a unique unit project focused around another historic event. On each of your papers, you will receive a message with the name of your project partner. For this assignment you will be working together closely and giving your reports together.”

  Every student’s e-paper lights up.

  “You may open your message as I explain the nature of this project,” she says. “For this assignment, you will be viewing and researching your own birth videos.”

  Next to me, Lander curses under his breath, and in my peripheral I see that he’s looking at his e-paper.

  What’s that all about? Who’s he paired with? I look down at my own paper, and suddenly that little blue message box at the top seems way more ominous than it should. I swallow hard and click on it. Slowly, I read what it says.

  Your birth was monumentally important to us. We hope you enjoy this assignment to review that historic event. Your work partner for this project is Lander Finch.

  Chapter Seven

  If I didn’t already feel stupid around him, now I definitely do.

  Where does he get off cursing about being assigned to me? He’s the one who’s been giving me a hard time.

  “Everyone find your partner and shake hands. Introduce yourself if you are unfamiliar with each other,” says Mrs. Krete.

  I turn towards him and he’s already facing me.

  His expression looks upset, but he instantly replaces it with one of his fake, edgy smirks. “Looks like we’ll be spending some quality time together again, Shrieker.”

  “Looks like it.” Faker, I want to add.

  His eyes narrow into mischievous slits, and his smirk spreads. “Guess that strangers-and-babies deal is off the table now.”

  Not appropriate. I don’t care how gorgeous he is.

  My cheeks go red but I glare all the same. “It wasn’t ever a consideration to begin with.” Besides, you hate being assigned to me for this, so why would you want to share a life?

  Lander chuckles and rolls his tongue in his cheek. “I guess there’s always plan B,” he says to himself.

  He releases a noisy sigh and smooths his palms onto his desktop, stretching lazily. “So, when do you want to get started?”

  I’m not sure how to answer that. I just stare blankly at him and blink.

  “Oh.” He acts startled. “I mean with the assignment, of course.” He winks.

  “I’ve got plans tonight and also stuff tomorrow after school, so—”

  “Perfect. Tomorrow night it is then,” he says. “Shall we say your place at seven?”

  My mouth falls open. There’s no way he’s that zealous of a student. This assignment isn’t due for two weeks. He probably wants this done and over with as fast as possible.

  “Yeah. That should work.” Ugh, I’d really rather Mom not see me and him together. I’ll never hear the end of it. “Actually, can we go to your place instead?”

  He rubs his hand across the back of his neck. “I would say yes, but I’m not ready to bring you home quite yet.”

  I cross my arms tightly. “That’s not what I meant,” I say through my teeth.

  He offers a killer crooked smile. “Yeah, but it sure is fun to mess with you. I love the way you bite your lip and get all flustered.”

  I didn’t realize I was biting my lip, but now I stop and turn to face the front of the room.

  He puts a hand on my desk, almost touching my arm. “Averi,” he says, a chuckle lacing his words. “Don’t be so uptight. I’m totally just fooling with you.”

  My eyes shift down to his hand so near my skin, and I swallow. I slide my arm farther away. “Well, stop fooling. We’ve got work to do.”

  The diner is emptier than usual tonight. It makes the six of us a lot more noticeable, if there were anyone to take notice.

  “Did any of you get an assignment in social studies about birth videos?” asks Zeph.

  We all nod.

  “I’m so excited! Rax and I are on the project together,” she chirps, then turns to Rax. “I can’t wait to see what a cute baby you were, Rax.” She pinches his cheeks, and he makes a face.

  We all laugh.

  “Kachina and I are paired up too,” says Jett, tossing her a wink.

  This all seems a little too convenient.

  Kachina smiles at him coyly and then turns to the rest of us. “Yeah, and Jett thinks he can circumvent the firewalls and get the surveillance footage of the whole room, not just the warming video.”

  “Anything for you, babe.” He wriggles his brow at her and wraps an arm around her shoulders with a squeeze.

  Silence falls over the group, and it’s like I can hear the unspoken question, or maybe it’s their probing gazes that send me the message.

  I cave. “Lander and I paired up too,” I say. Several eyes in the group noticeably widen. Oops. “I mean we, um, not ‘paired up,’ we’re just together. Not like a thing-thing, but—”

  “She means I coerced Mrs. Krete into assigning us together since she’s one of the few GAPs I know around here.” He nudges my shoulder with his and smiles.

  Why does he do that—save face for me like that? Especially after cursing that he got stuck with me?

  “Yeah. We’re working together,” I affirm. As if that’s gonna make up for my stupid stumbling over myself just now. Smooth, Averi.

  “It’s so fun that we all got partnered up with others in our group,” says Zeph. But she’s looking at me.

  Geez, could you be any less discreet? Let’s just all cheer out loud. “Yay, Averi’s not such a loser anymore.”

  “Very convenient,” murmurs Rax, picking at his plate.

  The conversation moves on, mostly to the topic of the baby born today. The Executive Organizers named him Atom.

  Rax and Jett are arguing over the coolest names they’ve ever heard, ones they swear they’ll name their own kid someday. I kind of f
eel like pointing out that Nat and Chenzo didn’t get to pick their kid’s name, so neither will they, but I don’t want to burst their bubble.

  Lander seems almost as disinterested in the conversation as I am, honing his attention on eating. His plate is mostly veggies again, fried this time, with potatoes.

  What’s with his boring food choices? “Why do you eat that kind of stuff?” I ask.

  Lander’s chewing slows. He glances over at me, then scans the rest of the group before ending on me again. “Why do I eat what kind of stuff?”

  I nod towards his plate. “Regular vegetables and grains.” I lift my fork up a little higher to showcase my fettuccini steak. Even though I now know it’s actually fish, it still tastes just as good. “Why don’t you eat good stuff like us, or even meat?”

  His jaw muscles flex out then in as he chews his food a little more. “Who says I don’t?”

  My foot taps an impatient beat on the cork floor. “You haven’t ordered anything like that all week.”

  He fills his lungs a little deeper, puffing out his chest. “I’m flattered you took notice.”

  My foot stops and my palm flattens on the table. I turn to my food. “Only because it’s strange.” It’s like I’m intentionally setting myself up for his flirty comebacks.

  It’s silent between us for a moment.

  “If you want the honest truth,” he says, talking with his hands while eating too, “I like the way it makes me feel. It kind of clears things up. Opens up new possibilities for my mind.”

  I let my eyes slide back towards him because I’ve gotta know if he’s joking. “Your food does?”

  He nods.

  I’m fighting a laugh and it makes my words sound halting. “How? What’s that even mean, ‘clear things up’?”

  He tucks the fist that’s holding his fork under his chin, his steady gaze full of challenge. “Give it a try for about a week. If you still don’t understand what I’m saying, then I’ll explain it better.”

  I eye his plain-looking food. I don’t think I could stand to eat that way for even a day.